


No Servant is Greater than His Master

by ThinkingCAPSLOCK



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Gen, Miracles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 22:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThinkingCAPSLOCK/pseuds/ThinkingCAPSLOCK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't know why you questioned your faith when God up and spoke to you through your mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Servant is Greater than His Master

**Author's Note:**

> John 13:16: Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him.

The tunnels are dark, black pitch shit as you make your way down them, leavin' behind all those bright shining fake gods and their stars and paths and plans. Little Serket's corpse drags behind you like some kind of hardass heavy weight, and Sollux's is just as bad, but man, it don't matter. Shit's gotta get done, you know what you gotta get doing. Starts with just keeping around these things. Can't let those squishy colour skinned freaks upstairs have their way with 'em. 

You clamber down, all the twists and slopes some kinda familiar pattern and you just know it like it's your own hive. Learned it while everyone else was around doing nothing. Learned it when you had to. When you were told you were going to. And know you know it and Little Serket knows it and Sollux knows it, if they could see it. They're leaving a trail behind you but that shit don't matter, blood's an easy thing to clean when you got the time. 

It's not long before you start heading up, behind a poster in an unused hall and right the hell up a big flight of steps, far away from the fakes and the lights and your little puny moirail. He wouldn't understand what you gotta do and how you know to do it, but man, you'll take him along with you when you're saved. Karkat's just been the greatest bro around and you can't leave him behind. He'll believe when you're done cause there won't be much of a choice when the miracles are staring him in the face like a wall of fucking sparkling honesty. 

Little Serket and Sollux go thump, thump, thump all the way up the steps, and by the time you get to the jury room, man, she's stopped leaving her trail and just started looking pretty ruffed up. You pull Serket in first, You like to think she'd wanna keep that head of hers on cause she loved using it so much. You put her down beside the Equius' head, which sits all toppled and broken, where she'd feel all safe and home like. You slide Sollux in beside Feferi all nice and cozy. Makes you wish you had the rest of the bodies. You make a mothefucking note to haul them all back around side here to keep their heads all company.

Best thing to do is go out on top and stare at the stars to see if those fuckers are flying past you yet. You go back to the stairs, climbing the final flight to the small room you haven't touched yet. It's all kinds of boring, two desks on the sides and a tunnel up the middle. Shit needs a dusting but you haven't been told what to do about it. 

But now all your concern's for this little tunnel, cause you gotta get back upside and investigate. Can't be slacking off learning things. They ain't exactly your instructions but you like to be in the know. Helps when you gotta get things done to already know your way about doing them. So you climb the handy little ladder, the metal all cold and leavin your hands gritty with dust. 

The tunnel's topped by some damned cover and you shove it aside like garbage. The air whips around you, sending your hair every way, wrapping around your horns and licking your painted face. The stars are blurring like lines of light and damn, you're really moving. You let out a laugh. If this ain't just the fucking thing you were told was gonna be happening. All kinds of miracles happening around you every day, Just gotta use your eyes and head to see em. 

That's when shit gets starting to feel all warm again. You know the signs - the tingles down your spine, leading down to the soles of your feet and climbing back up, rattling in your thinkpan. You bow down on your knees, planting your forehead against the cold metal roof and squeezing your eyes shut. All sorts of colours dance in your mind and you let yourself unfocus, detaching from the screaming wind and biting roof and room full of sitting bodies. Everything behind your eyes goes vivid green and you'll be damned if this ain't the colour of a miracle. 

There's always a wait before the voice starts, and that's full of tingles and flashes and just peace. Gives you a moment to think about those lovely little bodies waiting for you and why you're saving them all up. Makes you wonder all about what the plan is with the tower. 

GAMZEE. 

The voice is like a giant boom right down your body, sitting hard and deep in your pan. "I live to motherfucking serve. All humble and servant like and your fucking helper." 

I KNOW. YOU KNOW. TELL ME WHAT IS HAPPENING. 

"We're flyin through space man, just blurring the stars with our fingers and leavin a hot trail of ragged broken pieces of space in our wake." 

AND YOU HAVE THE BODIES? 

"First thing I did." 

GOOD. 

A pause in the boom that's filled with the green and tingles and miracles, man. You don't know how anyone can doubt that these Gods exist. Don't know why you questioned your faith when God up and spoke to you through your mind. 

I HAVE YOUR NEXT JOB. 

"Spill it out. What motherfucking works do you need my hands for?" 

I NEED YOU TO PREPARE SOMETHING FOR ME. 

"What?" 

A ROOM. LISTEN WELL. 

The metal against your forehead is all the shades of cooling down, and all the flavours of lime fill your head. This shit is your calling. Your holy fucking right. You've been chosen an blessed and you're all kinds of ready for it. So when the words start up in your pan again you set it to work, getting all your god damn knowledge ready for mixing and matching. You were going to prepare this room like some kind of holy shrine. 

\- 

The instructions are all kinds of clear, and you know you don't know the why behind them, but the how and what is plenty. You ain't in a position to question and you see no reason to. This is the Mirthiest of the Messiahs and he's given you a sacred task. There's so many things to collect and move up. So many little tools to create the plan he asked of you. And you're the only one who's up and worth enough to do it. Cause he made you worthy. Yours ain't some false mocking of gods like the squish skinned fuckers. Yours was power passed down from on high.

You don't know where those two got the nerve to call themselves gods. Least Aradia might've been a believe, though you don't know. More likely than those two squish heads knowing anything about all the holy rites you been through. All the miracles floating around even out here. Bunch of false prophets and liars and you're stuck with them.  
But that's alright. Not like you were gonna listen to them. Not like they'd have any fucking say on what works you're doing. They ain't hearing the voice of God in their mind and you know that this means you're the only true prophet around here. Doing right the motherfucking exactly what he wants. And he says you up and gotta fix up this place real nice? Not one motherfucking problem. 

You start by sitting down in your room of righteous bodies and planning out all you need. Lists of things you need to get down deep in the meteor to alchemize, things you can up and snag from rooms, and things you just have to sit around and wait for them to come to you. You know for sure and shit there ain't no book on the roof to edit yet. 

Planning seems to take for ever, but you don't keep track of the time. None of it matters since you're gonna be done before you need to be. You already started the hard work and now it's just gonna be one motherfucking long smooth sail down to the finish line. 

Before you can take from the area, though, you need to learn the patterns and habits of those fuckers living here with you. Can't risk them catching you cause they won't understand the work. Not yet. You sneak down the steps and clean the blue [yellow?] as you go, hiding the trail Little Serket meant to leave to be found. Shit must smell half a mile away. It's another miracle Pyrope hasn't sniffed you out, but what would the missy lawyer want all the way over here, when she's got so much going for her over there? 

You slink down deep into the meteor, into paths of winding darkness you haven't mastered. Shit sprawls out long and deep and it's gotta cover enough for you to do the snooping you need. You bite your finger, marking a little sign on the entrance wall. In case you have issues remembering where to start. The purple's all dark against the grey and it seems so obvious. You know it is. If they see it they'll think you're hiding down here and keep them far away from the other half of the place. 

The halls are pitch as fuck and the air's as stiff as a motherfucking corpse. It's cool. Like the motherfucking fridge. You keep one hand on the wall and your eyes set forward, searching out the twists and turns and setting them in your memory. Your pan grinds along as you go, forcing everything to stay in place. 

You find all kinds of crazy things down there. Little peep holes through the walls. Looking deep into Ampora's old room. One looking against the motherfucking winding stairs. Out into halls and passages and closets. You even find a backdoor to all Little Serket's loot. But most important. Most precious find of all is the looking hole to the computer room. You hunker down behind it, watching Kanaya move and throw coloured blankets around. 

Your smile turns all the kinds of upside down it can. The false god is hanging around, helping the decorating as it goes. Means you can't go in here till they're done. Means you probably can't go alchemize all the extra little things you need cause their bodies are gonna be all up and moving between the two rooms. And you know there's still more fuckers hanging around somewhere. You mark the hole with a motherfucking purple smile and move on. 

It's for fucking ever before you find all the little secrets down here the place can offer. You've started to learn the little rhythms, the overpowering patterns that they all have. Besides Kanaya they all seem to sleep around the same time, even the leftover Carapace and his little bug light. They're just so simple and so fucking easy to avoid, you wonder why you thought you'd have any problems with your gathering. With a stretch, you crack your neck and fingers, one long snap by one. By now they're all hiding out in the main room, with Pyrope and Ruby Red the false out drawing on the floor. 

You slip out the hidden door. You keep your feet silent and slip down through the hall. Shit's easy. Everything you need's sitting right there in front of you. Tons of scraps and plans and fucking guides to alchemy. Like a tiny motherfucking miracle just for you. 

\- 

You never realized how just god damn annoying steps were. You got this shit ass ugly thing on your back, hauling it up this damn tower to the top. Only so many times you can remind yourself you're working a good deed. All kinds of holy. Box is as long as you are and neon dancing stripes of red and green. Took eight solid tries to make it right. And all that with the rainbow drinker stalking you through the tunnels, trying to light them up to find you. Can't fault her on determination but hell if it don't rub you the wrong way. 

Each step echoes loud in your ears, ringing like it ain't ever gonna leave. Your pan rumbles at full speed as you stare down at the steps, keeping the plans rolling. After this you've covered most of the big stuff you need to move. Just need some computers and chains and weird ass other shit. Not so hard. Least it won't be mother fucking awkward to carry up the steps. 

It's a slow walk cause you can't risk dropping it. Make too much noise. You already got a glowing nobody trying to find you in the tunnels. Don't need the falsies snooping around. Don't need anyone coming over here to look for something falling. So you take it slow, and damn, the speed's just as painful as the carrying. 

It's fifty eons before you finally hit the top, and you shrug that shit into the room. Fucking neon and hideous and god damn, you want nothing more to do with that monster. You ain't got a clue what it's for, though your pan's been workin, trying to figure it out behind all the planning its doing. But it doesn't make sense. Not one bit. So you opt to try and push it from your mind and shove the thing round the middle of the room. You keep the lid on just cause it makes it easier to motherfucking handle. 

The room is shaping up to be just the vision that you were given to make. You got Karkat's old book, some of your miracle dust all cornered off, those weird limegreen and bright red boxes on either side of the room. You'd even swiped a printing mechanism the other day, meaning that you had two now. Stack of paper sat beside the red box, and you'd left some weirdass drawing thing with it. Looked like it plugged into the computers, which you still needed. 

Least it was turning out fine. You gave a quick second look. Least the shit wasn't dusty as all get out. You'd scrubbed the grey until it fucking gleaned. You could lick this fucking floor and be good with it. 

You gave a stretch, starting from the tips of your fingers down to your feet, bending your spine back slightly, gettin rid of the sore and fucking agony that had been your eternal stair climb. Gotta suffer for art. Gotta suffer to serve the motherfucking highest being. Your mind grinds as you loosen your limbs, arms dangling down again, shoulders slouching all kinda upwards and frontwards. You'd have a chance at the computers provided that miss glowing drinker wouldn't be lurking around. You rub your jaw and start leaping down the steps, two at a time. Computers will be all kinds of easy to carry compared to that fucking demon. 

-  
GAMZEE. 

The burst of colour comes outta nowhere, and you drop the tools you have and drop down to your knees. Fixin this thing on the wall ain't half as important when your name's being called by the Holy of the motherfucking Mirth. You press your face down on the shiny floor. Vision's all green with your eyes opened or closed. Dancing and partyin lights all over your fucking skull. 

"I am right the motherfuck here." 

I KNOW YOU ARE. GIVE ME A REPORT. 

"Shit's going fine. Building these things on the wall. Made the keys and shackles. Hid them both pretty motherfucking well. Symbols are weird though. Dunno how long this'll take. To wrap up." 

IT DOESN'T MATTER HOW LONG IT TAKES. YOU'VE ALREADY DONE IT. 

You feel your eyebrows knot. Shit don't make sense. "I'm not done." 

YOU'LL BE DONE WHEN IT IS TIME TO BE DONE. BECAUSE YOU'VE ALREADY MADE IT. 

"When's the book coming. Still ain't got it." 

IT WILL COME WHEN YOU SEND IT BACK FOR YOURSELF. 

The colour faded slowly, and your eyes stop burning bright and you're staring at the backs of your eyelids. Briefest report you've ever had to give. It takes a few moments for your pan to settle, for the wheels to start turning again. You'll pass the book down to yourself it seems. Guess that means you gotta remember to go steal it after you get it. Time shit ain't your thing. Your field of expertise doesn't quite cover shenanigans of that calibre. But you ain't gonna disappoint. 

By the time your mind is settled you're already on your feet. The tools are cold and tiny and work like magic as you drill and scrape and paint this fucking box of swirls and red and green onto the wall. And you got another one to do after this. Lining up chains and shackles and logos, matching colours and sides and following all the little patterns. Life's full of them. You see them everywhere by now. The greens are the one, the reds are the other, and the other half of the meteor flows to both of them. 

You twist and place the box, tugging the chain and checking it. By now the falsies would be making dinner, Pyrope would be up on the roof, and the Drinker would be hovering by an entrance to your tunnels, looking for a noise. Karkat, your bro, would be in his room, pacing and rubbing a hole down into the floor with the repetition. Fucking patterns of red are theirs. Nothing special or holy there. 

And you, you got the patterns of green, the working, the fixing, the up and down of the steps and the back and forth of the tunnels. The green of your hands making a fucking miracle, following a God, following orders only you'd ever hear. And that's when you know. You know in your deep motherfucking soul that you're different and blessed by all kinds of favour. It's about time you showed it. 

You put down the tools, going down the steps, fast and quick and jumpin the flights. You got a lull to do this, and you got the best idea, the sign of respect you should've been showing before. Messiah's given you one sign and you better hold it close. Better fix up your pattern to match the hue that haunts God's every command. You'd be the fucking biggest fool if you'd never caught on. 

You make it all the way to the pitch halls, and you enter slowly, carefully, folding up all those limbs and keeping them close. Your footfalls are silent cause you know she's around, trying to catch you but it's been a year and a half from what you heard and she ain't ever found you. Won't ever find you. Her pan moves too slow, she ain't smart enough to learn all the passages, know all the tricks. There's only you, you're the only one with a quick moving thinker and a swift walk that can manage this. 

Not even a glimpse of her, and you pop up by the alchemiter. Takes about four seconds for you to calculate what you need. It's all lying around. No one bothers cleaning up. No one bothers checking what's missing. Means you can take what you need and leave what you don't. You make the cards and the item pretty quick. After all you've done it seems simple. Combine some clothes with some colour. 

You needed a new outfit. Why not go for a motherfucking suit. All green and pretty and fitted. Bright and shining and bold. You know this is right. This is the best you have felt in a very long time. Your throat summons a dark chuckle, and you can't resist letting it spill out into a laugh. Not like you can get caught. And now you're feeling all kinds of special. Takes a few moments for you to gather your other clothes up under your arm and wander back to the tunnel. 

You make your way back down, into the pitch, when you see it. Down a hallway, the faint glowing white of the fool of a troll Kanaya. You toss your old shirt and pants down a side tunnel, and duck into a crevice. It leads circle loop all the way back to the exit, and by the time Kanaya gets to the source of the sound you'll be halfway up the motherfucking stairs. Your feet are ten times as quiet as hers and you know she ain't got a chance of catching you now. 

You are untouchable in that motherfucking miracles suit. 

\- 

The room is all kinds of looking well. All patterns and contrasts. You got the computers all up and running, programming in their chat clients all nice like. Cheering and jeering and fucking wonderful time ports. You got the coat hanger, the shackles all shiny, fuck, you even were allowed to make the weapon of your motherfucking forefather, the gun sitting all clean and shiny nearby. 

Shit's all holy as fuck, all sanctioned and clean, and you look around, smoothing down your green suit and tie as a large thunk comes down from the ceiling. There shouldn't be shit all round here in space, blasting ever closer to the new session. You climb the shiny ladder all up, sliding open the hatch. Stars are still blurring up there, smiling down at you.

Not six feet from you sits the book. That book that the falsie's writing with Kanaya. One Karkat, your bro, was all in a holler about lately. How they had to get it done. How they were so motherfucking close to the new session. How Gamzee was still off hiding somewhere. You wanted to smile at him but shit's gotta get done. Brother will forgive you all when you're done.

Some kind of miracle how you sent it back already. Must be done in the future. Must be a miracle you got this back just in time. 

You take the book, slugging all the way back down, through the holy room of patterns back to your own sanctuary of heads and bodies. You moved the bodies back out of the tanks just recently to fuck with the rainbow drinker. She was snooping around all there and you made good on your little reunion you promised what seemed like for fucking ever ago. Amidst these fucking sinner's bodies you sit down, crinkling open the pages with a long finger.

Takes no time at all borrowing some of the kneeling Equius' blood and sitting down. Can't let your gods be up and injured all kinds by this book. Can't let people know about his weaknesses. All kinds of careful not to stain your motherfucking suit, you start blurring out the mentions of your hero. Your motherfucking god on high. They all turn into blurs of navy. Colour of the fucking salvation. Your hands are working some pretty damn great works right now. 

While you go, you start reading, skimming along. Shit's heavy handed. Full of false praise and bullshit and motherfucking blasphemies. You scowl into it. Thinking about all the edits it needs. But there's only so much you can do. And that so much encompasses the most important need of all. Removing yourself from this piece of garbage. Ain't like you need the attention. Make yourself all kinds of invisible. Some unimportant fucker. Then no one's gonna come looking for you. 

When the book's all done your hand's soaked a blueberry shade and it ain't coming off so well. You stand, tripping all over yourself and catching your hand on the wall. Fuck. Fucking motherfuck. The blood smears down the blank wall, a blue streak of fucking death on the grey surface.

You stand back. You take in the whole scene.

You start slamming over corpses, starting with Little Serket's. You take a fistful of pale blue and smear it over. You take a dash of brown and yellow and you mix them. Like a motherfucking palette on your walls. Dips and shades and patches. Of motherfucking. Beauty. You smear and paint and dance to the tune of the slips and splashes. You carve out your motherfucking story in colours and flows and sploshes and leave a marking all for your own self. The story of Gamzee Makara. The hands of the miracle worker. The hands granted to you by the holy heaven on high.

It's all kinds of beautiful. It's all kind of honest, perfect, beauty. It's your own story, your own mark on this, the signature on your fucking masterpiece upstairs. The walls are coated and your sleeves cling like a bitch all to your arms. Lime green suit's all stained and pretty. You think you like it with a bit more colour. Bit more motherfucking miracle nature to it. Makes it stand out.

You run the book upstairs, keeping it all kinds of neat on the side of the green. You survey it before you. You look at it all kinds of happy. You made this. You made this for him. And he's gonna be so fucking pleased.

The colour of green starts up all behind your eyes. The tingles and shivers run up and down your back. Like a dance of power. Like a show of your connection and his divinity and your fucking wonders.

You bow down on your knees. 

GAMZEE.

"I am right. The motherfuck. Here."

YOU'VE DONE WELL. THERE'S ONLY ONE LAST TASK THAT YOU NEED TO DO.

"Yeah?"

I HOPE YOU'RE READY FOR SOME TIME TRAVELLING. YOU'VE GOT A FEW MORE THINGS TO ACCOMPLISH HERE IN THE NEW SESSION.

"Are we here? Did we make it all the way there?"

YES.

You smile behind the green and the sleeve cuffs and the shiny floor. You smile behind the patterns of red and lime. You smile about the fuckers who couldn't catch you. The unbelievers. They'd see what was coming. They'd see it all. 

You'll paint their minds all lime green as a message of what holy hands you have.


End file.
